Inverted
by Sonyushka
Summary: "Where there is power, there is resistance." Two years after Harry Potter was killed at the Final Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley finds herself at the center of a renewed plot to take down the Dark Lord with the help of an unexpected ally in the Death Eaters' Inner Circle.
1. Prologue

**_Inverted_**

Summary: It's been two years since the Final Battle, and Harry Potter is no longer alive. Enter a world much darker than when he left it, a world in which Ron and Hermione are just trying to survive, the Order of the Phoenix has died, and Ginny realizes she has an ally within the Death Eaters' circle. Dark, alternate universe, mature content.

* * *

**Prologue**

_"Only the dead have seen the end of war." - Plato_

_May 2, 1998_

Her eyes were closed, and her skin was flushed from the heat of the blaze that was ripping apart the dead gamekeeper's cabin. Blaise saw from beneath his ripped mask that she would die from smoke inhalation within the hour.

He knew who she was from the instant his eyes had landed on her; now, an odd choking sensation gripped his chest as he watched a group of younger recruits glance at her prone body with interest before wrongfully concluding that she was dead, and continuing on their way to the castle. The fire from Hagrid's home rose higher and higher, the tips of the bright orange flames just barely missing branches of the Forbidden Forest.

More Death Eaters streamed past him, and he mentally kept a headcount from his position. His own mask just barely hung onto his face, having saved his features from a particularly nasty Slashing spell from a certain member of the Order of the Phoenix only 10 minutes earlier.

Through the trees came the sounds of shouts and yipping as two adolescent Death Eaters trudged through with their wands straight up in the air, sending up green sparks and shouting "Death to Muggles!" A gaggle of followers, dressed in the black uniform but lacking masks, cheered and rushed along. Blaise counted 11 in all. That meant 76 total, which, discounting himself, comprised the number he was responsible for in Voldemort's army.

Behind him, a rush of wind signaled Draco's arrival, and he turned to face his best friend. The blond looked shaken and started at Blaise's appearance. "Are you hurt?" he demanded.

"Got nicked a bit," answered Blaise, pulling the tattered mask off his face to reveal a partially mended gash on his cheek in the shape of the Slashing hex. "What's happening in there?" he gestured toward the darkness of the trees.

Draco's expression darkened and the muscle in his jaw was taut as he said, "They killed him. It's over. That's why Father sent the rest of the recruits so early. It's gonna be a bloodbath. _He_ doesn't want any survivors." Unable to say the Dark Lord's name and refusing to address him with a title, Draco assumed the darkly sour expression he would forever display whilst talking about Voldemort. Chuckling darkly, he added, "I got promoted. When the Ministry's restructured I'll be head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Wanker," Blaise called him. "Don't mess it up."

"Who cut up your face?"

Blaise scowled and gingerly replaced his mask. "That's what I need to talk to you about," he replied, jerking his head toward the woman on the ground. Draco followed his gesture and his gaze widened as he realized who it was.

"You killed her?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't be stupid," Blaise said shortly. "She's unconscious."

"What are you going to do with her? Her family's going to be at the top of the kill lists, you know," said Draco, waving his wand with a small flourish. Slowly, the woman's unconscious body rose from the ground and floated away from the smoke filled air until it landed gently on the moss covered ground beside them.

Blaise knelt by her side and mindlessly performed medic duties, clearing the smoke from her lungs and healing bruises from her earlier duels. "I need to give her to her family," he said quietly, "if they haven't already escaped the battle."

"They'll still be here. They never learned when to quit," scoffed Draco, but his grip on his friend's shoulder was a comfort of sorts.

Brushing errant strands of thick hair out of her face, Blaise silently healed a slight fracture in her skull, then sat back on his heels. Below them, the path leading from the forest to the grounds of Hogwarts was deserted and the cabin blaze was less threatening.

"I need to hide her, mate." Blaise looked at Draco hard. The request present in his tone was plain as day, and he knew Draco understood what he was asking for, that this was the biggest favor he would ever ask of him, because Blaise Zabini never asked for anything, never asked for help because he had never needed it. And Draco, unable to consider Blaise as anyone but his equal, already knew he would help him no matter what it cost him, because in this life, in this new regime, he was the only friend he had.

"Alright," answered Draco.

Unconscious on the ground between the pair of them, Ginny Weasley's dark red hair rippled over the knotted ground and tangled behind her ears. The wand she had used to nearly kill Blaise was tucked securely in her robe.

"Find Kingsley Shacklebolt," ordered Draco, in a low voice. "He's got an illegal portkey out of here and if the Weasleys are smart they'll be going with him."

"How did he get a portkey?" asked Blaise in surprise. They were a rarity these days, always unauthorized and never reliable.

"Simple," said Draco carelessly. "I gave it to him. Told him Potter was dead and advised him to get out before the massacre began." A little curiously, he added, "What did you say to her that made her have a go at you like that?"

A hint of a grimace touched the corner of Blaise's mouth as he sighed, "I told her I would protect her if she would just put her wand down."

Draco snorted obnoxiously, saying, "I never thought my first action as Head of Magical Law Enforcement would be to protect her. But then again, I never thought all of this," he gestured to the burnt cabin and the battle in the distance, "would happen, either."

They were silent for a moment, hearing faint screams and seeing flying jets of green light. Finally, Blaise voiced their secret hope. "I thought Potter would end this."

"I did, too," said Draco.

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**Author's Notes:** Hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you've got a minute! I welcome feedback of all types. Also, I'm looking for beta readers to help me out with clarity, sentence structure, and grammar/typos. Please PM me if proofreading's your thing.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Inverted**_

Summary: It's been two years since the Final Battle, and Harry Potter is no longer alive. Enter a world much darker than when he left it, a world in which Ron and Hermione are just trying to survive, the Order of the Phoenix has died, and Ginny realizes she has an ally within the Death Eaters' circle. Dark, alternate universe, mature content.

* * *

**Part One **

**Chapter 1**

"_I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, and torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage._" – _Friedrich Nietzsche_

_Two Years Later_

"Tut, tut," a soft voice spoke into his bloodied ear. It penetrated through his consciousness, jerking him out of the fog that blanketed his overloaded senses. "Such a _disappointment_."

"_Crucio_," came a whisper from his right, and Ron's body twisted in agony again. It was getting easier to bear, though. The nerve endings that had felt like they were burning him from the inside out now sent dulled pain signals to his mind. It was the only true indication of how long he had been locked in this deceptively warm, bright room. He grunted as the curse held; he tried not to bite down any more on his torn bottom lip. He thought of warm brown eyes and wild, curly brown hair, instead.

"Rest assured, Mr. Weasley, that we will find out where the rest of you are hidden. It has been far too long since your family has forfeited the…_privilege_ of existing in this world," she said, ending her promise with a breathy tinkling laugh that sent chills racing through his spine. The wizard in black to his right flicked his wand lazily, removing the Cruciatus curse from him, and Ron sagged as far down into his own lap as he could. Cords bound his arms to the back of a metal chair, and his ankles had been hooked around the front two legs before being wrapped round with industrial strength Spellotape.

What he would give to stab her straight through her smug, cold eyes with the quill she had made them all write lines with during fifth year. What he would have given just to see Firenze and his herd of centaurs trample her to death in the Forbidden Forest, before everything had started to go wrong. The old wound on his hand began smarting, a relic of his past, but suddenly feeling as fresh as it had been the day he wrote all those lines. _Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder_, he reasoned, knowing that's how Hermione would have explained it.

She didn't know where he was. The thought made him sick; that he might not escape this and make it back to her. That she would be alone.

_She'll have Ginny, she'll have George, and Mum, and Dad_. _Bill and Fleur and Percy and Audrey._ The least he could do right now was hold it together. _Don't break_. "Hit me hard, you miserable twat," he said lowly, flashing her a cruel grin.

It almost matched the one she responded with, spreading over her mouth like a slow poison. She hmm'd with a faux sigh of frustration, and then glanced over to the hired muscle twirling his wand. Less than a second later, Ron felt his jaw dislocate as a gloved fist smashed into the side of his face. His chair tipped, and his shoulder took the brunt of his weight as he landed on the hard, tiled floor. Blood began dripping from his ear onto the cold marble.

"Pick him up," Umbridge demanded softly, and suddenly his chair was being hauled up and set upright in its original position. The pain began radiating from his face, and Ron grimaced. He couldn't even smirk defiantly with a dislocated jaw. Bugger.

"Perhaps that will teach you to control your language," she said, as if berating him at Hogwarts again. "You must not use such foul words in the presence of authorities."

The wizard who punched him stepped backwards a few paces to resume his stance in Ron's peripheral vision.

Withdrawing a pink woolen napkin-sized cloth from her cardigan pocket, Umbridge took a seat very properly in another metal chair five feet away from him, and began to wipe down her wand very methodically, paying special attention to the handle and lingering around the wooden inlaid detailing along its length.

"What I am asking you is, doubtless, an old question, Mr. Weasley," she informed him, still polishing her wand and looking as bored as the drone wizard in the corner. "Two years is enough time for your family to find what few stragglers there are left and form another terrorist organization that threatens the regime. And it is my job to find out where they are, how far they have come, and if need be, snuff them out…like feeble little candles," she smiled, _Merlin he hated that smile_, and folded her cleaning cloth into a tight triangle before tucking it back into her pink cardigan.

Talking through his crooked jaw hurt like hell, but Ron did it anyway. "It's good to see that you don't underestimate us."

Her eyes gleamed. "So it's true?" she whispered. The madness in her was so apparent that Ron knew he would, on some sick level, enjoy this interrogation.

"There has been a Resistance from the moment You-Know-Who slit Harry's throat," he taunted.

Her nose wrinkled. "Impossible, as you know, what with all the pogroms immediately following the Dark Lord's rise to power. I wonder if you are not telling lies, Mr. Weasley?"

And really, this is what Ron wanted all along, because in two years, he had become more than a scared teenager grieving his best friend. He had become very skilled at telling lies. He felt his hand burn as he let an expression of panic and guilt cross his mangled face. And it was enough. She jumped on it.

"That's because it is impossible, isn't it, Mr. Weasley? Who is to say your family even escaped one of the many manhunts and bounties placed on their heads? For all my colleague and I know, you may be the only one left. No family around you, hmm?"

Unconsciously, he felt pained, because as far as he knew, he would never be around his family again. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she smirked triumphantly, knowing she had gotten under his skin but not realizing it wasn't in the way she had intended. "You were always more pliable than your friend Mr. Potter, I'm afraid," she said self-assuredly, standing up and smoothing her corduroy skirt. Ron let his gaze drop down to his knees. Her heels clicked as she stepped in front of him, and he focused on the toes of her shoes, missing the fact that her wand was trained on him until she added, "But I shall need to confirm the Weasleys' deaths with a look inside your mind, you know."

_Occlumency_. Inwardly, he groaned, trying to summon any strength he had left before the onslaught came. _Don't break_. It was the only thing he could do for Hermione now.

Looking up the length of the wand at her, he assumed a defeated, angry stance, and watched her eyes gleam again with insanity. The wizard in black stood like a column, a silent witness to every lie Ron was planting in his boss's head. Umbridge breathed deeply through her nose; her chest rose as she raised her wand a fraction of an inch. He wasn't ready yet, but she was counting on that.

And then her crony snapped his boots together and stood at more rigid attention, because the door had suddenly opened and a wizard in black robes strode inside, his long, slanting eyes sweeping over the room and narrowing in particular at Umbridge, whose wand was still pointed at Ron. "The Office of Magical Law Enforcement has processed your request for Veritaserum, Ms. Umbridge," he said, withdrawing a small vial with clear liquid out of an inner pocket.

Umbridge's wand hand jerked down, and Ron looked on in amazement as she patted her hair a bit self-consciously as she replied, "Yes, just in time, Mr. Zabini. A much cleaner method to obtaining intelligence, I must say."

Zabini's jaw ticked, as he gave a contemptuous glance at Ron. A stony glare was all Ron could manage to return. Inwardly, he was experiencing true panic. At least _Legilimency_ had a defense. If they forced that potion down his throat, Hermione, his family, they would all be hunted anew.

"…it's been deemed more prudent to administer it myself, as I am the one with primary custody of an extremely controlled substance." And Umbridge was gaping like a fish out of water and the guard in the corner had shifted uncomfortably due to the tension now present in the room.

Dropping his gaze back down to his knees, hoping Hermione would forgive him, he vaguely heard Umbridge haltingly reply that Zabini should do as he deemed fit. "Ron Weasley has been very cooperative thus far, so he shan't give you much trouble." She was icily polite to the very end. Ron could give her that.

"Look at me, blood traitor," said Zabini harshly.

Looking up through the straggly ends of his blood caked hair, Ron gave his best glare and said, "I can hardly swallow since your thug smashed my jaw in, you prat."

"There are ways of making you swallow without too much fuss, Weasley," replied Zabini, uncorking the tiny vial and reaching out to yank Ron's hair backwards. Ron could not stop the hiss of pain as the back of the metal chair dug into the nape of his neck.

"Didn't take you as the kinkier sort, Zabini," he coughed as blood in his mouth began running down his throat. Fred would have been proud. _See you soon, wanker_.

With a grim look, his new captor held the vial to Ron's closed lips, his slate blue eyes boring into his own meaningfully. Ron held his gaze defiantly, increasing the pressure on his bloody bottom lip. There was no sound from Umbridge, no sound from the man who had punched him repeatedly. He and Zabini stared each other down. The overhead light blinded Ron, throwing Zabini's face into shadow, but the longer he resisted, the more it seemed like the former Slytherin was minutely shaking his head.

"It won't be so bad, Weasley," he drawled, his piercing gaze still riveted on Ron. And there it was again, a small shake of his head. "It's not such a bad tasting potion, you know. Just freezing cold on its way down, that's all." A small drop of the potion spilled out as he completed his sentence.

It was warm.

Ron's eyes widened and Zabini took that chance to pinch his nostrils shut. Struggling to breathe, Ron tried to twist himself out of grip, but the vial was pushing against his mouth even harder than before and his lungs began to burn from the exertion. As he caved and the potion flooded his mouth, Ron furiously tried to spit it out. What was Zabini playing at, giving him something that was obviously _not_ a truth potion? But his head was tugged back even farther over the back of the chair, and Zabini was forcing his mouth shut with his other hand, the empty vial having long been abandoned.

He was going to die. At that moment, he forgot how the man holding his mouth shut had looked that last night at Hogwarts, bringing Ginny towards Kingsley Shacklebolt and exchanging words with the older man, before Disapparating to Merlin knew where. All he could think about was how he was leaving Hermione. She would kill him.

The inevitable swallow occurred, and Ron was held in place to ensure he would not try to throw it back up. It didn't go down cold, but then, did Umbridge or the wizard in black know he had just been poisoned? Zabini stepped back, in his eyes a strange look of triumph and…was that a warning? "Talk," he commanded.

They held each other stares for a few seconds, both knowing Ron couldn't very well talk if he hadn't been put under the potion's effects. And then, it began to dawn on Ron that he was very, very, _very_ daft. He…wouldn't have to _talk_.

Two years after delivering his missing sister alive, Blaise Zabini had tricked Umbridge out of her career-making interrogation. The warning, the triumphant look in his eyes, his insistence that he administer the potion himself...it made sense.

Somewhere in all of this, Zabini was a big player. Therefore, Ron assumed the dull look of a person under the effects of Veritaserum, and began telling a story. Umbridge tiptoed closer and closer to him as her self-writing quill transcribed every single word that came out of his mouth. Her lips were quivering in excitement as her eyes glowed malevolently.

Ron was in his element. _Checkmate_.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to my beta, marinka! And thanks for the reviews and favorites and follows for this fic. If you've got some time, please review so I know what you guys think so far. I'm still in the middle of introducing some key characters, but don't worry, the action won't stop!


	3. Chapter 2

_**Inverted**_

Summary: It's been two years since the Final Battle, and Harry Potter is no longer alive. Enter a world much darker than when he left it, a world in which Ron and Hermione are just trying to survive, the Order of the Phoenix has died, and Ginny realizes she has an ally within the Death Eaters' circle. Dark, alternate universe, mature content.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_"Where there is power, there is resistance." – Michel Foucault_

Hermione couldn't get to the toilet fast enough. The cold ceramic bowl was a godsend to her shaking limbs as she heaved the contents of her stomach into the water, coughing violently.

Behind her, Fleur muttered to herself in French as she soaked a towelette in tap water. Hermione felt the cold cloth press against her clammy forehead and her hair being pulled away from her face gently. She vomited until there was nothing but bile coming up, with her sister-in-law murmuring senseless words of comfort in her ear.

The commotion in the rest of the apartment had a sort of efficiency to it. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep baritone voice directed the thorough sweeping of the tiny flat. Hermione could hear objects rattling as they were enchanted to become booby trapped by various members of the former Order of the Phoenix.

"…what to do about the photograph albums?" Hestia Jones's stately tenor sounded just outside of the bathroom door.

"Shrink and pack them, she will want those," answered Kingsley. Then, to the other former Order members, he ordered, "Anything that ties this flat to Ronald and Hermione, I want packed or destroyed."

Her stomach rolling, Hermione tried to trigger her gag reflex one last time, but in vain. The next thing that would come up would probably be her intestines themselves. She sagged back down onto the grimy tile floor, half leaning against Fleur and half collapsing into herself. The tears came unbidden, and wryly, she thought, _I'll kill him_.

"You must try to stand, 'Ermionee," coaxed Fleur, and sighing, Hermione obeyed, using the seat of the toilet for support. The nausea returned as soon as she was upright, however, and so she sat down on the seat, clutching the damp towelette to her forehead.

Fleur turned worriedly to Kingsley, who looked at them in puzzlement.

"Food poisoning," offered Hermione weakly.

They accepted her answer, and around her, Fleur began banishing all superfluous items from the mirror cabinet in rapid succession, her accented Latin making the incantations sound almost foreign. She pointed her short, whippy wand at the compress that was getting warm on Hermione's forehead and muttered a potent Cooling charm. When Hermione smiled gratefully at her, the worried crease on her forehead softened to give her a more motherly look, and she reassured her, "When we are safe, we will get you treated."

_That might be harder than you think_. "Thank you, Fleur," she answered, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

The ex-Order members' entrance in her flat that morning had not alarmed her; Kingsley was their Secret-Keeper, after all, and the people he had brought with him were those who had been a part of the old Order, trusted through thick and thin. But then, she had looked over in bed, seen that the sheets on Ron's side had been undisturbed, and her blood had run cold. He had never made it back home the previous night. It wasn't so hard to connect the dots after that.

"He's been taken by the Ministry, Hermione," said Kingsley as he had seen her work it out. "He's being interrogated by Dolores Umbridge as we speak."

She didn't question how he knew that, because she knew it was true. Ron was _always_ there in the morning. How many covert patrols he had done for the Order was unknown, but he had made it back every single time. Only this time, they must have stumbled upon him. Maybe he had misjudged a deserted alleyway. Maybe they had been tailing him for weeks. It wouldn't surprise her; they were #1 and #2 on every kill list in the country.

That they had evaded the Ministry for two years was a feat in itself. But no matter how many precautions had been taken, he was still their prisoner. And if she didn't get out before they broke him, _if _they broke him, she would be next. Her memories of Umbridge did not bode well for a future meeting.

"Fully booby-trapped, Kingsley," said Hestia, hefting an innocuous-looking knapsack. Percy Weasley emerged from the bedroom behind her, nodding at Kingsley and adding, "All cleared out."

Hermione allowed herself to be pulled up by Fleur's firm grip on her elbow. The nausea was subsiding now, making her realize that she severely needed a toothbrush. Percy looked at her concernedly; his own pale, ashen face the only indication of his worry over his brother's capture. "Fleur, perhaps side-along Apparition is best," he addressed their sister-in-law, who nodded emphatically.

"Oui, of course," she replied, wrapping her petite arm around Hermione's shaking shoulders. The tears were flowing silently, a fact that the latter didn't try to hide as she was guided out of the bathroom into the small lounge that had served as their marital hearth.

"You will be in a safe place, 'Ermionee," reassured Fleur. With that, she lifted Hermione's left hand and slid her wedding band back into its regular place. Hermione looked at it, startled.

"'Twas on your sink," Fleur explained. "A woman does not lose ze first gift from her husband." This was accompanied by a squeeze of her hand. It was all Hermione could do to keep from collapsing onto the floor. _Merlin, he doesn't even know. He may never know_.

"The faster we leave, the bigger our chance of losing them," intoned Hestia warningly.

"Please," begged Hermione, suddenly clutching Kingsley's sleeve. She felt frantic. Once she left their home, it was lost to her forever, and if somehow Ron escaped that evil witch and tried to come back, she wouldn't be here. There would be no trace of her, of them. "Please, we have to rescue him, Kingsley, we _must_," she said hysterically.

"We will regroup the Order as soon as we can, Hermione, I give you my word," he told her soothingly, gripping her hand and gesturing to Hestia, who was behind her. The older witch placed a Disillusionment Charm on her. As the cold trickling feeling made its way down her shoulders and torso, Hermione nodded, wiping her nose. "Thank you," she whispered.

Fleur was back at her side and slid her arm around her waist. "On my mark," she said to the others, and they whipped the hoods of the cloaks over their heads.

Her sister-in-law gently pulled Hermione's hood over her brown curls herself, whispering, "Ready?"

Hermione glanced over her home for the last time before nodding and assenting with a thick, "Yes, I'm ready."

In the next second, the familiar feeling of being sucked into a too-small tube engulfed her, and before she knew it, she was in a small lounge filled with red-haired relatives.

"_Hermione_!" exclaimed her mother-in-law, Molly Weasley, bounding forward to greet her.

She couldn't stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Letting herself be enfolded in Molly's embrace, Hermione clutched at her and babbled, "They captured Ron, Molly, I don't know where they've taken him."

"I know, dear," she replied, her voice thick with worry. She rubbed Hermione's back. "I know, love."

Behind her came a cacophony of voices exhorting Kingsley to organize a search and rescue, but the de facto leader of the ruined Order held up a hand to quell the noise. "We will not abandon Ronald," he said to Arthur Weasley, who nodded gravely. Beside him, Bill slid his arm protectively around Fleur, who had buried her face in his chest.

"Father," said Percy, who was standing with his wife Audrey in front of the fireplace. "Kingsley, if Ron is being held by the Ministry, there's a strong chance they're keeping him in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Kingsley nodded in agreement. "There are temporary holding cells that were built during Cornelius's administration, intended to hold petty criminals. I would not be surprised if Draco Malfoy has fortified them for intelligence gathering purposes."

A chilled silence settled amongst them as they all considered the probability that Ron was being tortured.

_Or he could be dead_, thought Hermione frantically. If Ron had put up a fight, which was very likely, because Ron _never_ went down without fighting, there was a chance they had killed him.

Only Molly's firm squeeze on her shoulder snapped her from those thoughts, but with it came a fresh onslaught of nausea. Hermione held a hand up to her mouth, stammered, "Excuse me," and broke away from the older woman's hold. Rushing to the kitchen, she barely reached the metallic sink before retching out the nonexistent contents of her stomach again.

There was a stunned silence in the lounge as the Weasleys looked worriedly after her, then Fleur, straightening under Bill's arm, supplied, "She eez sick." However, her beautiful blue eyes were now suspiciously narrowed, and a meaningful glance at Molly sent the Weasley matriarch into the kitchen after Hermione. _Mon dieu_, the blonde thought, gripping her husband's hand tightly.

Beside Bill, George sat with his elbows on his knees, cradling his forehead in his hands. His auburn hair had been pulled in every which direction by his distracted fingers, and the place where his ear had been cursed off was almost hidden by an overgrowth of thick hair. He was the most obviously tightly strung member in the room.

The sound of crying in the kitchen caused them all to perk up their ears. Fleur left her spot with Bill and found herself in the kitchen the next second. Molly looked shocked, and Hermione had resorted to weeping angrily, holding her forearm across her abdomen.

"_Non_," she whispered, stepping closer to them both and holding her own hands to where Hermione was protecting her midsection. "'Ow long have you known?"

Hermione breathed heavily to calm the next wave of tears. "A month," she whispered, swiping the end of her nose with her fingers. She shuddered and hiccupped before wailing, "He-he doesn't even know! I should have told him the moment I found out! N-now he's never going to know!"

"Pregnant," Kingsley said twenty minutes later, after a sobbing Hermione was taken upstairs and put to bed by Fleur and Molly. Arthur was pinching the bridge of his nose beside him.

George was pacing the length of the floor. He paused in the middle of the room to say, "This only means we have no choice but to rescue Ron, Kingsley," he said agitatedly. "We owe him that much."

"Consider the personal risk you are willing to take on by infiltrating the Ministry of Magic," said Arthur, attempting to soothe an impending headache. "It was hard enough to do while Fudge was in charge, though he did make a blunder of security in general."

"What choice do we have, Father?" asked Percy resignedly. "If we don't even try, we leave Ron to them. None of us could live with that."

"He deserves to know Hermione is having a baby," added Audrey softly.

"How will we get to the holding cells?" asked Bill, his brows furrowed. His experience lay in Gringotts, not in the Ministry of Magic.

"Our work is cut out for us," decided Kingsley. He stood up, straightening his robes and pulling his cloak on. Hestia followed his lead immediately.

"I will contact friends and bring them here, tonight. If we are to rescue your son, Arthur, we will not go in blind. We'll plan it proper," he promised, pulling his hood over his head once more.

Arthur nodded. "Right, Kingsley. Thank you."

"I will be in touch with my contact at the Ministry, as well. Shall I pass anything on to Ginny for you and Molly?"

"Tell her to come tonight as well, will you?"

The Weasley sons all added their entreaties to this request. "Tell her to be here," reiterated George.

"Of course. Please contact Charles on my behalf, tell him he may find tonight's gathering very informative, if sooner than I had planned. And give Hermione my regards, please," said Kingsley. He nodded briefly at Hestia, and with two loud cracks, both Disapparated.

"What does he mean by 'sooner than planned'?" asked Bill. Their father looked around at his sons, as if debating how much to divulge.

"I'll let him tell you the details tonight, but it's safe to say that Kingsley has been very busy over the past year," he finally said.

"What does any of this have to do with Charlie?" demanded Percy. Audrey, looking shaken, took the opportunity to slip out of the lounge and up the staircase, intending to join Hermione, Fleur, and Molly.

"Fuck me," swore Bill. "Dad, you didn't. How did Mum ever agree to that?"

"What? Agree to what?" asked George heatedly.

"That was a risky network to throw him in! We don't even know what connections the rest of the gamekeepers have! For all we know, by the time they finish breeding a herd, they'll be handed over to You-Know-Who! He has Death Eaters in Romania, Dad!"

"I know the risks, Bill!" bristled Arthur. "So does your mother. Charlie didn't let us stop him. He was determined all the same."

"I could have stopped him if I had known!" urged Bill.

"_Stopped him from what_?" yelled George.

The tension was thick. Bill crossed his arms angrily and looked at Arthur expectantly. Their father sighed heavily, then said the words that awakened a long forgotten feeling of hope in George. He almost heard Fred's reaction in his head as he heard the words coming from their father's mouth.

"He's breeding dragons to fight."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thank you, thank you, thank you, to my beta Marina, reviewers and followers. You guys rock! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. I'm trying to set things up so that most characters end up having unique roles in the next fight against Voldemort. Next chapter will introduce Ginny after the two-year gap. Please review and let me know how I'm doing! I welcome constructive criticism.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Inverted**_

Summary: "Where there is power, there is resistance." Two years after Harry Potter was killed at the Final Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley finds herself at the center of a renewed plot to take down the Dark Lord with the help of an unexpected ally in the Death Eaters' Inner Circle.

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**Chapter 3**

_"You are curious and quick, you have a deft mind, and for some unaccountable reason, people tell you things - useful things." -Deanna Raybourn**  
**_

It was too early to be doing this. But there Ginny Weasley sat anyway, stuffing thick-papered envelopes with outrageously colored pamphlets that detailed the proper protocols for reporting suspicious activity in the workplace, in the neighborhood, and up their own arses, it seemed.

She sat at her small desk in the Office of Communications and Media at the Ministry of Magic, an inadvertently placed suite of rooms at the end of a labyrinth of corridors on the same level as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Employees in lesser departments whispered that it was the Office of Propaganda, taking orders from Draco Malfoy himself.

That part wasn't true; she could say that much for certain. If she knew anything about the git she had triumphantly hexed in school, she knew this wasn't his area of expertise. The pamphlets, fliers, and literature that were printed out of this office had extremely subtle language, intended to placate and soothe, rather than command or compel. Draco Malfoy, for lack of a better description, possessed all the subtlety of an explosion. Someone did give orders to Ginny's boss, but it wasn't Malfoy.

The Office of Propaganda was spacious, decked with light, luxurious furniture that no doubt seemed inviting to the many visitors that passed through every day, from printers to journalists and minor officials. Aurors also came through, though those visits were rare and mostly tension-filled.

Ginny was executive assistant to the Head of Office of Communications and Media. In essence, she was an errand girl, albeit a very well dressed errand girl as per the instructions of her employer, who was likewise a well-dressed professional that had given her a job amidst hazy circumstances. Angry after the war, and bitter about Harry's death, Ginny had jumped without thinking too hard about the potential trap she was getting into; after all, it was You-Know-Who's Ministry now, and who was to say she wasn't being tracked by Death Eaters because she was a Weasley?

But Morag MacDougal had said, "There's nothing I can say that would convince you that you're safe. So I guess you'll have to take that risk and see for yourself." She had handed Ginny a small business card, on which two lines of neat, purple Ministry script spelled out, "Office of Communications and Media, Head Liaison Morag McDougall," tucked her gloved hands into her woolen coat, and walked out of the Muggle pub into the cold December night. It was two weeks before Christmas; the first Christmas that Harry had not been there.

A year and a half had passed from that secret meeting, the end of which saw Ginny irritably mailing pamphlets that were a waste of trees, a waste of space, and a waste of good writing. However, she was alive. She was almost…invisible. She scanned in and out of the Ministry every day, passing her wand through a sensor that was guarded by a masked wizard. It never shrilled to indicate a Blacklisted wand, no matter how much she held her breath and let the terror flood her senses. It was as though she had fallen through the cracks of this new system that tracked every wand in Britain.

For months she had questioned it, but she didn't know what to think. She didn't know whom to ask because she didn't trust a single person here, not even Morag, despite working for her for over a year without being forced into anything illegal or dragged to You-Know-Who himself. There wasn't a friendly face in the building and their office was cut off from too much interaction with the other departments. Even if there was a single former Gryffindor that Ginny knew in this regime, he or she was nowhere to be found.

_I'm the only Gryffindor still here_, she thought angrily, applying a hefty Sticking Charm under the flap of the envelope in her hand. _It's seven in the morning and I'm a mail girl_.

A familiar whizzing sound signaled the morning's memos addressed to her boss. Ginny sighed, leaving her mental reverie, and Summoned the pale violet paper plane-shaped memos to her desk.

Transcribing quill at the ready, Ginny began composing Morag's schedule for the day. "Floo Flourish and Blotts Publishing House, confirm publishing deadline for Regime anniversary banners." The scratching noise of the self-writing quill followed. A neat, dark blue script appeared on the parchment within seconds.

Leaning back in her cushioned chair, Ginny unfolded the next memo, which was designated as interdepartmental by a special seal, and slipped out of her three-inch heels. The quill stood at the ready, but immediately began traveling over the parchment as she paraphrased the request written on the memo. "Meeting requested with Mr. Goldstein in the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discuss media campaign for English Quidditch League Cup."

She felt the tug of wishful thinking at the news that the Quidditch League Cup was being reinstated. In another life, perhaps, she would have tried out for the Harpies and followed in the footsteps of her childhood idol, Gwenog Jones. _In another life_. She sighed, and shook her head a little to clear out the thought of that life. In that life, there was still Harry, and he was smiling at her.

She scrubbed at her cheek with her palm absentmindedly, erasing all evidence of the tears that had suddenly spilled from her bright brown eyes. Sitting up in her seat, she tossed Anthony Goldstein's memo to the trash pile and picked up a small, white paper plane. It was unmarked.

_Another note of Nott's_? she thought as she began a complicated unsticking incantation on the sealed paper. Morag's fiancé was known to send correspondence to the office every so often. But it wasn't from him this time. The words on the paper jumped out at Ginny as she read it swiftly. The blood drained from her face.

_R. Weasley and Umbridge talking. Stay put. Dinner at parents' tonight. –friend of K_

It was a hurried attempt at discretion, that much was obvious. Ginny was confident that the _K_ stood for Kingsley. But there was something…off, about it. If this was really done with Kingsley's blessing, then why wasn't her charmed galleon glowing warmly against her skin, where she had stowed it in her bra every day for the past two years? It was an almost foolproof system of communication between her and her hidden family. Kingsley would not have agreed to passing on information like this.

Even so, how could she ignore the possibility that Ron had been captured? If it was true, he was here in the Ministry, too, _on the very same floor_. The realization made her jump up from her desk, but at precisely that moment, the door to the office opened and Morag strolled in, reading a long, trailing parchment. Her attention diverted to Ginny, and bemused, she asked, "What's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ginny tensed, and took to straightening the memos on the desk, discreetly sliding the white one in with the others. "Good morning," she responded, concealing a slight tremor in her voice.

"And to you, as well," her boss replied. She began rolling the parchment in her hands, sighing. "Thanks for coming in so early again, Ginny. The workload, I swear, it's just too much around this time of year." Considered by the tabloid press as the enchanting and mysterious fiancée of the powerful Minister for Treasury, Morag MacDougal had thankfully not changed her pleasant demeanor as she rose in the ranks of the new Regime. Of course, her blood helped, too; the MacDougals were an old Scottish wizarding family that could trace their lineage to the time the first stones of Hogwarts had been laid.

"It's not a problem," said Ginny more unaffectedly. However, her nerves jumped as Morag looked at her appraisingly. Unbidden, the memories of her old boyfriend, Michael Corner, swam to the forefront of her mind. _"Too smart for her own good," _was what he had said of her, with grudging respect. _"But she's a prickly one, that. Turned down Anthony Goldstein six times."_

Her mind was screaming at her to bolt out of this office and storm the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, but instead, she forced herself to relax and assumed a polite smile. Morag returned the expression, but it was a tense silence. Fastening her parchment with a ribbon, she stepped forward and placed it on Ginny's desk. Her dark brown hair spilled over her shoulders as she bent forward and placed her hands on the surface of the table. "Your brother has been captured," she intoned in a soft voice, her blue eyes locking with Ginny's gaze.

Again, Ginny stiffened as she tried to resist recoiling from Morag. The latter, however, did not withdraw her wand or do anything to suggest she might threaten Ginny. Instead, she looked regretful. "Did you get the note?" Her gaze trailed down to the stack of memos on the desk.

It seemed that warning bells were going off in tandem in Ginny's mind. But all she could get out was a shocked, "You sent that?" Morag was with…Kingsley?

But the brunette shook her head. "I didn't."

The silence this time was brutal. "Don't play games, Morag," said Ginny warningly. "Boss or not, I _will_ hex you."

Morag's demeanor grew chilly in an instant. "The one who sent you that memo is the one who told me to hire you. And just in case your eyes have been closed for the past year and a half, let me inform you that you've been walking around as a free person. You haven't been in hiding, you've been showing up to work with criminals every day, and not a single Death Eater has stopped you on the street."

"There is nothing free about what you just described," hissed Ginny. "I live in fear for my life _every single day_. So _don't_ throw around your half-arsed reassurances and just expect me to be grateful that I'm not dead. _Who sent this memo_?" She yanked the white square of paper from underneath Goldstein's veiled attempt to flirt with Morag and slammed it onto the desk between them.

Morag glanced down at it, her lips twisting into a familiar pout that signified she was thinking very hard about what she was going to say. Ginny crossed her arms and glared at her.

"I can't tell you that," she finally said. Her gaze was again regretful, and before Ginny could angrily tell her to piss off, she added, "I work for him, and he always requests his anonymity, Ginny. I think it's his intention to tell you himself, though he hasn't said as much to me." Her voice lowered again, and she added in a hurried rush, "He's in with Kingsley Shacklebolt, though, so what he's telling you is true. He's already informed him about Ron's capture."

As if on cue, the galleon held in place against the right side of her breasts grew warm. Ginny stepped back from her desk, feeling disoriented. "Are you willingly telling me about an informant in the Ministry?" she asked shakily. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You don't honestly think I'd work in good conscience for The Dark Lord, do you?" answered Morag, looking a little hurt. "We knew each other in Hogwarts, Ginny. You were best friends with my housemate."

"You're engaged to Theodore Nott!" exclaimed Ginny in protest. "You're marrying one of the biggest Death Eaters of all! Pardon me if I thought you were one of them!"

Morag flinched, but her gaze hardened all the same. "Not everything is as it seems."

"Obviously," snapped Ginny. Suddenly exhausted, she sank backwards into her chair. Morag chewed her lip, staring hard at her.

Sighing, the redhead said, "I don't trust anyone anymore, Morag. So forgive me if I'm not exactly jumping for joy at the news that some 'higher-up' seems to be looking out for me. It doesn't help that you've basically told me fuck all." She narrowed her eyes at the other woman.

Morag crossed her arms, all business once again. "Understood. I realize none of this is comforting to hear, but he wanted you to know about your brother. You're to meet Kingsley at the normal Apparition point at the usual time so you can see your family tonight. I can take the rest of the memos off your hands." She plucked them off the desk as she finished her sentence.

Ginny stared at the white paper in front of her. The writing was unfamiliar.

Morag, who was walking away to her own bigger office within the suite, added, "I'm sorry about Ron, Ginny." Then her door closed and Ginny was alone in the reception area of the Office of Propaganda once more.

_Ron, you idiot._ She did not stop the tears this time.

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**Author's Notes**: Thanks to my beta, Marina, for reading over this chapter and helping me make it better :) I was busy stuffing my face during American Thanksgiving and not checking my email, so when I came back to find new reviews and followers and favoriting, I felt really loved! Thanks, you guys! I'm almost done with my school semester, so I hope to submit the next few chapters at a regular pace. In the next chapter, we'll see a lot more of Blaise. Read and review pretty please? Happy December!


	5. Chapter 4

_**Inverted**_

Summary: "Where there is power, there is resistance." Two years after Harry Potter was killed at the Final Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley finds herself at the center of a renewed plot to take down the Dark Lord with the help of an unexpected ally in the Death Eaters' Inner Circle.

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**Chapter 4**

"_There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other…" –J.K. Rowling_

_Earlier That Morning_

"You're sending it now?"

"Yes, problem?"

A pause. Then, "Well, it's a bit early, don't you think? Suppose she storms Umbridge herself? What'll you do then?"

"Relax, MacDougal, no one's attacking anyone. Not now, at least." Blaise finished sealing a white sheet of parchment in the shape of a plane. It began flying lazy circles above the surface of his mahogany desk.

Morag bit back a retort as the door to the office opened abruptly and a familiar head of blond hair appeared.

Draco Malfoy nodded respectfully at her and she greeted, "Good morning."

"Always a load of sunshine, this one," muttered Blaise, surveying the broody aspect of Draco's face. "Have you got it?"

Malfoy withdrew a tiny vial from the inner pocket of his robes and placed it on Blaise's desk. "Merlin, but you do owe me this time, Blaise," he proclaimed, and Morag's boss rolled his eyes.

"I always owe you, wanker."

Draco grinned, and then added, "Stick it to Umbridge, yeah? She's a right old cunt, she is." Glancing over at Morag, who was still standing prim with a fat roll of parchment in her hands, he cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously.

She shrugged her shoulders, elegantly. "There is no need to censor your language around me," she said coolly.

"How goes Theo? He hasn't stopped by since last week, what's keeping him?" asked Blaise absentmindedly, applying Sticking Charms to intradepartmental memos. The dark green paper airplanes hovering above his head increased in number by the second.

His subordinate sighed a bit fretfully before commenting, "He's frightfully busy with work. You try overseeing every single instance of incompetence at Gringotts. Say what you will about goblins, that they're greedy, sneaky, that whole load of bollocks. You still can't deny that they ran Gringotts like a well-oiled machine. Every other day or so Theo's forced to handle a situation personally. Just yesterday he had to unjinx the Lestranges' family vault himself. Bellatrix was livid."

"My dear old aunt," muttered Draco. "Such a lovely, well-mannered person once you get to know her."

Blaise snorted.

"He handled the matter as diplomatically as possible, but you know her. She's unreasonable," said Morag.

"Only you could call a textbook case of madness unreasonable, Morag," said Draco. "Still, I'll look into it; make sure she hasn't taken it to heart. We wouldn't want that."

"What _is_ your aunt doing these days?" asked Blaise curiously, looking up from the square of forest green paper he was scrawling a message on.

Draco grimaced. "Being a lapdog. I swear, if she could shag that bloody bastard, she would. Even her husband just takes orders from her now. No spine in him. Mother's disgusted. She and Father are constantly talking about it. It's all they can do to keep out from under her thumb."

"I was puzzled to hear there was a jinx on their vault," said Morag thoughtfully. "From what I understood, it had also occurred in the past. Theo said it must not have been fully removed last time, or someone in Gringotts jinxed it fresh."

Blaise's eyes narrowed in surprise. "That's interesting, seeing as very few wizards or witches actually get the clearance to go down that deep in Gringotts."

"That was under the goblins," Draco reminded him. "They had eyes in the back of their heads. Yet another flaw in the new Gringotts management. The whole 'not having eyes in the back of their heads' thing."

"You know quite a bit about this incident, methinks," challenged Blaise, smirking. "For all Morag and I know, you jinxed your aunt's vault shut yourself."

Without missing a beat, the blond smoothly replied, "That's neither here nor there."

Morag suppressed a smirk. Her fiancé would be relieved at this piece of information. Rather than push the subject, she turned her attention back to her boss. "What shall I do when Ginny gets up to go play hero for her brother?"

"You're telling his sister?" interrupted Draco incredulously.

"I'm warning her, more like," answered Blaise.

Shaking his head, Draco chuckled. "Can't believe this charade is still going on after two years. Why you didn't tell her you were saving her arse when she first started working under Morag, I'll never know. What's the plan this time?"

"I'll contact Kingsley shortly. He'll confirm what I've written to her, so she doesn't get suspicious. And you," Blaise turned his attention back to Morag, "absolutely cannot tell her this is from me. All in good time, if what Kingsley has been telling me is true."

Morag nodded once in assent. "She'll want to know when you'll reveal yourself. I've never known her to be the patient sort."

"I suppose it's beyond hope that Blaise would pin his hopes on a safer witch," sighed Draco. "You know, you and Daphne Greengrass could have worked things out if you'd tried."

"Please," scoffed Blaise. "Daphne isn't the sort to settle down with anyone who doesn't appear on the cover of Witch Weekly, several fat endorsements in hand. She loves the glamorous life, while I try my absolute hardest to avoid it."

"From what I've heard, her relationship with Terrence Higgs is beginning to sour, something about his visiting too many wizards' clubs," offered Draco, a bit hopefully. "I could easily set you two up again; you know I've been seeing her younger sister-"

"You're seeing Astoria Greengrass?" exclaimed Morag. "That cow, she didn't mention a single word to me!"

Draco smirked. "Well, these things, you know, can't have the tabloids making a huge fuss out of it. I'd never get any peace."

Blaise had sat back in his chair, regarding Draco closely. "Interesting."

A more solemn expression settled on the latter's face. "I know what I'm doing," he said seriously. "After all, we all knew Pansy just wasn't going to work out. She's too unstable, too tied up in the affairs of her own parents. And last I noticed, her father was bending over backward to win Bellatrix's favor, lending her all sorts of money, that sort of thing."

"Just be careful, mate."

"As always. So no go on Daphne, huh?"

"Pass," Blaise grinned. "She's an old friend, nothing more. Besides, I don't want you for a brother-in-law."

"You wanker," replied Draco, chuckling. Smoothing the collar of his robes, he turned to go. "Keep me updated on Kingsley, yeah? I've got some plans of my own that'll need tweaking depending on what he's up to."

"Of course."

"Tell Theo to Floo me, Morag, I know he misses me." Draco winked at her and Morag rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"I'll let him know. Cheers."

Before the door of Blaise's office had shut from Draco's departure, the former stood up from his desk, waving his wand quickly. The dark green memos, along with the small white parchment airplane, zoomed out in the next second and the door closed again. "Take a seat," he murmured hospitably.

Morag sat down on the leather sofa against the opposite wall, curiously noting, "I wasn't aware the Ministry had any more Veritaserum in its possession." She raised her eyebrows in the general direction of the small vial on Blaise's desk filled with the clear liquid. It could only be Veritaserum. Very few potions were corked into such miniscule portions.

"Ahh," he hedged, taking the chance to slip the vial into his robe pocket. "It would be a stretch to call that Veritaserum, to be honest."

"Oh?"

"As Umbridge may very well be interrogating Ron Weasley at the moment, I'm hoping to run interference with this. It's just a fake."

Morag's eyes widened. "Are you going to take over the interrogation?"

"Draco's already signed off on it, yes," he answered.

She sat back, an unexpected sigh of relief escaping her. "I don't think I'll ever understand how you three do it," she admitted. "It's dangerous, what Theo does. He has to deal with the Dark Lord's loyalists every day and convince them he's one of them. Just hearing about his dealings with Bellatrix Lestrange made my blood run cold. I can't imagine you and Draco have it any easier. And soon, I'll be right there beside Theo, and if Draco has his way, Astoria will be thrown into this big deception, and you…if Ginny ever returns your feelings, she'll be in the hardest position of us all."

"It's because I don't want her in that position that I haven't revealed myself," said Blaise firmly. "Not until Kingsley gives me a sign."

"A sign?" she asked skeptically.

Blaise sighed, rubbing his palm over his close-shaven head distractedly. "You know I've been in contact with him ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. He hasn't been idle this whole time, and neither have we."

"I see."

"Saving Ginny from being hunted after the war was not the most levelheaded decision I could have made. I acted on instinct and I twisted Draco's arm a bit to help me. But lately Kingsley and I have been thinking up a way to bring her into the fold a bit more fully, it just requires more planning with more information. And saving Ron from almost certain death will help me loads in regards to her family. The Weasleys are a force to be reckoned with, even in hiding."

"I agree," she said softly, turning over the roll of parchment in her hands. "I will respect your wishes in regards to her, but please, for the love of Merlin, don't hold off much longer in telling her, if you can help it. She doesn't trust very many people. Living like that is exhausting, you know."

"I know," he agreed heavily.

"I'll leave you to your interrogation, then." She stood up, smoothing her smartly pressed work robe. "I'll tell Theo you said hi."

"Thanks, Morag," he said, getting up with her. They walked out of his office together and made their way to the reception area of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. With a little wave, Morag exited the suite and walked down the corridor until she reached a familiarly lit, smaller alcove that served as the entrance to her own suite of offices.

_Ginny should have gotten Blaise's note by now_, she thought, unraveling the parchment in her hands and scanning the title of the document. She groaned at the volume of addresses contained within. Every single one would receive a formal Ministry invitation to the Regime Ball in a few weeks' time to celebrate the end of the war, and it was Morag's personal job to oversee the publicity for the event. _A bloody sham_.

Opening the door to the Department of Communications and Media, Morag walked in, her eyes still glued to the parchment. A slight commotion at her receptionist's desk caused her to look up. In front of her, a harried Ginny Weasley was standing at her desk. She affected a smile of puzzlement and asked, "What's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Back in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Blaise curtly nodded to lower rank Death Eaters as he passed through the Auror Office. Umbridge's group of offices was around the corner, and sure enough, as he rounded it, a large sign reading "Muggleborn Registration Commission and Holding Cells" loomed into view. It was characteristically silent, as most of Umbridge's underlings were out in the field actively pursuing Muggleborns who had not yet been registered by the regime.

Heading straight for the holding cells, he opened up a heavy door and strode inside, all business. A crony in the corner, Travers, if he remembered correctly, immediately stood at attention and Umbridge looked over at him, disconcerted.

Withdrawing the vial of fake Veritaserum from his robe pocket, Blaise informed her, "The Office of Magical Law Enforcement has processed your request for Veritaserum, Ms. Umbridge."

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**Author's Notes:** Thanks to my awesome beta reader, Marina! I hope everyone enjoyed reading this. I wanted to shift the focus to Blaise and Co. because they are the main muscle in the Ministry that Kingsley and the Weasleys will be counting on when it comes time to kick some ass. And it seems like Blaise has had feelings for Ginny for quite some time now, so all's that's left to do is to see how things turn out between them! Please review! Next chapter: Ron Weasley. In regards to how long this fic will be, I am about 1/5 of the way through, but that is just a rough estimate depending on how much of the plot I cut out or add in. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited!


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